Witness Testament
by Mashadar
Summary: Elysium was where his story began, but Torfan is where the legend was forged. A complementary piece to Sideris's Cyclical, Witness Testament is a documentary series following the exploits of Commander Shepard from the point of view of the people who fought with, and against him.
1. Chapter 1

**READ THIS FIRST**

**Have you read Sideris's Cyclical? If not, take the following line below and add it on top of the FFnet frontpage address (thanks to the stupid autofilters killing full links):  
**

** s/8321022/1/Cyclical**

**Witness Testament is a complementary piece to Cyclical. If you have not read it yet, this story will make no sense to you. If you have, then enjoy.  
**

* * *

**Witness Testament**

_The historic Battle of Torfan continues to be a hot button topic for many despite the passage of years, the level of brutality and death encountered during the fighting on the moon unmatched since the Skyllian Blitz. Though Alliance officials continue to refuse disclosure of documents detailing the events on the pirate haven, citing security concerns, our investigation crews have not given up the fight. From the sterile halls of Acturus Station to the seediest dives of crime ridden Omega, we interview the very people who participated in the Battle for Torfan. Join us as we delve into one of the most defining moments of Alliance foreign policy out in the Terminus Systems._

* * *

**Jonathan Harrington, War History**

**Rising From the Ashes**

**Part 1**

* * *

**THE BROKEN**

Yet another who comes, with pride in his step and arrogance in his face. And why have you come then? To mock one such as I? To climb one step higher by steeping small glories on this crippled slave caste? Or have you come seeking answers and truth instead? Yes... I see it in your manner now. You understand, and you seek beyond the easy lies of the extranet.

There may yet be hope for your generation.

You may already know much of my story if you have come seeking me, but that matters not. Pah. You may know every detail, but it is my story, and I will tell it as I see fit.

I am Ajak Charr, and once I was warlord to the greatest independent warband to ever exist within the Terminus Systems. My enemies of the era would say it to be a lie, and many have tried to prove it so. And yet it is they who are dead, their men crushed beneath my heel. No other warband had as many ships, weapons or warriors as ours. Our power was such that, whole worlds, entire star clusters even, paid tribute to avoid the depredations of our raids. The Ki'shakan Storm they called us, named for the great maelstrom that covers the world of Verush. Even the Batarian Hegemony respected our power, and courted us with richly gifts in the hopes that we would strike at the cowardly humans.

My name would be writ large across the entire Terminus Systems as the greatest warlord who lived were it not for Elanos Haliat, pah! I curse his name a thousand times over. I know not what dark designs he uncovered or what he did with them, but our fall from power, the bands of the Terminus, of the destruction of the Ki'shakan Storm and all my sons and daughters within it lies upon his hands.

It was he who unearthed the Agrat'kar, Sight Scorcher. He who incurred its insatiable wrath. And it is we who still pay the price of his folly.

Pah, you think the Agrat'kar, the accursed Golden Scourge of Humanity is but a soldier? A sign of their technological prowess at twisting life to new and unspeakable horrors? It is an understandable assumption, but you are still a fool for thinking so.

We were fools as well then, because we did not know the truth. Because we, like all the galaxy, believed Elysium to be proof of the utmost limits of what humans could do to their own, binding flesh with machine and biotics to create superior soldiers. I warn you now. If you came to hear my tale, then take heed and do not be the unprepared fools that we were.

The Agrat'kar, the accursed demon that humanity calls their hero, is not human.

We were prepared for the Scourge of Elysium when it came for us on the moon of Torfan, leading the armies of humanity. Pirates, warlords, slavers and the Hegemony. All were united in our desire to crush the human's greatest symbol of their strength. We planned, plotted, and laid our traps, believing that we had seen all that the humans could do with their vaunted Scourge. More ships than any dozen clans put together defended our fortresses, and many more lay in the darkest reaches of space, awaiting our signal to become the hammer to our anvil. The human hero would die, and we would gorge on the broken armies of the Systems Alliance.

But the Agrat'kar is beyond mortal. It is power given flesh, a demonic creature spun from our nightmares and clothed in human skin and purpose.

And on that black day, the Agrat'kar showed us what a demon was truly capable of.

* * *

_Ajak Charr looked at the holographic strategic display on his command map, and failed to hide the grin that crept up his fanged mouth. Most would have thought it out of place with the evidence before him. The sickly blue of the human varren outnumbered the warm orange of Torfan's orbital defences by a ratio of three to one, the gap widening with every salvo from the invaders. The Alliance had sent some of their newest and best, while Torfan's defending vessels were aged and underpowered by comparison. The loss of orbital control seemed fated, and with it, a ground invasion that would wipe out the biggest pirate bastion in the Terminus Systems. But most wouldn't know what he did. _

_Heilat's Raiders and Bleeders Edge lay in wait behind Karshin, the gas giant's electromagnetic storms hiding the largest coalition of pirate ships from the human's sensors. Generous gifts, secretly donated by the Hegemony, had stemmed their losses on Elysium. They boasted enough numbers now to take on the forces arrayed against Torfan, waiting for the exact moment to enact their revenge. And on Torfan itself, Blood Pack mercenaries had committed themselves in droves, hundreds of krogan warriors waiting in shielded and disguised bunkers for the time when the humans would make their landing. Unlike the pirates and slavers, they were not here for the pay, or for the revenge, but the glory of taking part in the largest battle to come in many years._

_It didn't matter to the commanding warlord, because they and all the bands on Torfan wanted the same thing. Revenge, glory, greed. All would be served in this battle. The destruction the Alliance force here, and of their most precious 'hero'. _

_Shepard._

_As if the thought had been a signal, the defending fleet broke apart, ships scattering to FTL transit after one loss too many. Some made the transition successfully. Others were destroyed as they brought their ships to bear on escape vectors. Fire from the invaders increased, chasing after the scent of spilled blood. He watched the tableau of destruction pan out without fear as the seconds ticked by. Observed the detaching shuttles, the first orbital strikes suppressing anti-aerospace defenses dispassionately. But inside, he felt the familiar thud of his heart increasing the pace, the anticipation of battle soon to be joined, and the inevitable closing of the trap._

"_Squad seven reporting! We have contact with human recon elements. Beginning engagement according to-"_

_Flashes of light flickered on the tactical display as the voice was drowned out by static. Icons for defending forces winking out in tandem with those of the enemy as they fought._

"_Echo actual! Line holding, but we need reinforcements!"_

"_Bravo has contact with enemy armor! Cannot hold! Falling back to second line!"_

_Charr tapped a finger as the reports came in, the troops pushing and being pushed in return, and felt a moment of disquiet. Where was the Golden Scourge? It should have been impossible to miss. Everywhere along the battlefront, the fighting was nowhere near what should have been had that particular human been- there. Sector 27, Hardan's line was faltering faster than it should be- no. A knotted blue square appeared, signalling the approach of an armored squadron as the reason. Human armor was formidable, but it was not the Scourge. And the Scourge would be here. He knew the Humans well enough, how they thought. This invasion was their message, a show of force. They would not have begun it without the most obvious sign of their might... unless they were keeping him as their trump._

_If so, he would force their hand. _

_A tap of a button, and an encrypted channel opened between him and one of his more competent lieutenants. _

"_Tell Krashak to activate the auxiliaries." _

_Thousands of lights flickered on in the display. Not the orange of defending forces, or the blue of the humans. Instead they pulsed a virulent yellow, massing in a tide of numbers that began accelerating towards the blue line. Like a living thing, the blue line recoiled from the yellow dots, whole clusters disappearing from its body as yellow pinpricks made contact with one another. Fragments of intercepted communications came streaming back, shock, horror, disgust and panic from the humans as they faced Charr's gambit._

"_-suicide units!"_

"_-don't let them get close-"_

"_-Seraph two is down!"_

"_-there's fucking kids among them-"_

"_-keep firing-"_

_Even without direct video feeds, it was easy to imagine the havoc the auxiliaries sowed, their explosive payloads powerful enough to turn armored vehicles into burning wrecks, much less infantry companies. He suppressed a small, irrational pang at the loss of resources. It would take many months of raiding to rebuild Krashak's depleting stocks, and more to train the thralls to fear the neural collar more than death. No matter. They served him better this way._

_On the other side of the command bunker, a Krogan in crimson armor snorts. "No fun if you thin them out too much." The Blood Pack leader rumbles, nonchalantly checking the action of his heavy shotgun. _

"_What do you care about a bunch of humans Dagyr? They're not why the Pack is here."_

"_There's three hundred Krogan on this rock, but only one glowing human." Dagyr grunts as if it's all the explanation he needs. "If he shows."_

_And it is, Charr admits with a sour grimace, turning his attention back to the readouts. "Patience warlord, my informants guarantee his presence in that force, and he will appear soon enough. You've waited centuries for a glorious battle, a few more minutes won't matter."_

_Not all the yellow icons make contact with their final destiny, many winking out before they touched the invaders. But enough did that the line was reeling, falling back as they felt the press of the defenders while explosions tore their ranks apart. Minutes passed by as the line of battle wavered, ceding ground for time to regroup. But it was too little, and far too late, the momentum lost and now on their side. The first wave would be butchered before long._

_And yet, still no Scourge._

_Without warning, spherical lights bloom on the battlefield above the defenders, negating most of the auxiliaries and the leading edge of the counter-attack in a flash of orbital fire._

_Charr bit off a curse as the command bunker shook from the impact. He hadn't expected the humans to start firing on their, no- he scowled as the tactical VIs spat out the results of their analysis. It was too accurate, too precisely timed. Despite the proximity to the blast, none of the invaders had been hit. That should have been impossible. Torfan's jamming systems were extensive, the human ships in orbit shouldn't have been able to penetrate it long enough to get that accurate a firing solution. Someone on the ground must have managed to break through the noise with a particularly powerful signal._

_But the tactical VIs are silent. No captured communications bursts with relevant data packets. Nothing but encrypted fragments of orders to advance. Elite forces he reasons, equipped with better secured comm gear. No matter. He still has cards to play, and the human ships are committed now. Whether the Scourge reveals himself or not, no one will be retreating from this battle until the other side is destroyed in detail._

_There is no hesitation, no pause as he activates a single command, broadcasting an order to every force under his command._

_Now is the time to reveal their hand._

_The skies above Torfan flash blue with the discharge of ships dropping out of FTL, corvettes, frigates and even cruisers diving on the exposed backs of the human ships. It is a brutal, merciless first strike. Two human ships shatter and burn in the first few seconds, trailing pillars of fire into Torfan's atmosphere. Others turn to engage the counter-attack, taking punishing firepower in the process. A fierce grin makes its way up Charr's face as a third ship joins the previous two. On the ground, the armoured company takes the opportunity to act, roaring out of hidden emplacements as their automatic mortars hammer away, detonations tearing apart the human forces. Intercepted communications depict calls for reinforcements and orders... only to fall to static as electronic warfare suites across the globe switch to full spectrum jamming, cutting off the humans from succor. _

_Even without access to the humans orbital communications net, it was easy to observe their reactions, see the panic seeping in despite their training. Ships respond too slowly and die, the human line on the ground falters as uncertainty grips their fragmented command networks while death rains from above. Malicious glee fills him as he takes in their panic, but not enough for him to savour the moment and ignore the next part of his plan._

_Grizzled laughter across the communication channels acknowledges his new order._

_Behind fixed defenses, inside natural cave formations, beneath rock overhangs, within simple but deep pits, a dozen Bor'lsaam anti-orbital platforms discard their camouflage shrouds, massive cannons rising to the sky like accusing fingers. Ancient in design, yet upgraded with cutting edge technology produced by Karshaan's secret weapons labs, their drive pods dig into the ground, automated entrenching tools firmly establishing themselves as part of the bedrock. Capacitors large enough to power a mid sized city for a year charge, then discharge all in less then a second. The Bor'lsaams roar, star bright matter streaking into the heavens and lighting up the skies with the electrical fountain of 250mm mass accelerators discharging. The ground shakes with their fire, thunderclap reports reaching through meter thick layers of dirt and armour to shake the command bunker with an angry rumble._

_And high in orbit, human ships explode as their shields are punctured, their hulls ripped apart by the destructive force of near cruiser grade firepower. Dropships tumble out of the sky like poisoned pests._

_A grin etches itself on Charr's face, all teeth and viciousness at the increasing panic on the enemy communications as he orders the platforms to disperse and seek new targets. Even with the humans caught between the orbital fleets and Torfan's guns, the anti-orbital platforms would be tempting and obvious targets so long as they remain in the open. A few of the human ships in orbit react, changing their vectors to avoid the Bor'slaam's thunder. A few slip past, hiding behind the cored wreckage of falling ships. Some strike at the ground, wild counter-battery fire seeking the platforms in desperation. But between Torfan and the hammer of his reinforcements, their response is wholly inadequate. Caught between the anvil and the hammer, more ships fall to Batarian made lightning._

_But then things change for the worse. Two Bor'slaam's skid to a halt in the process of relocation, damage reports slewing in with the chatter of confusion of his own men. Static replaces confusion an instant later when one of the pair blink out, tactical VIs marking their positions as lost while crew from the second vehicle scream amidst the crackle of roaring flames._

_One more vanishes in the time it takes for the VIs to confirm the deaths of the first two, and another fleeing vehicle lost as the cavern roof above is blasted free, burying the platform beneath thousands of tons of rock. Confusion reigns as rearguard units shout about an enemy attack._

_The realization is instantaneous. The Alliance must have deployed forward infiltrators beforehand, setting up their traps exactly for moments like this, taking out the most critical defenses at key moments. Not for long. Sensor pings lash out as he spits commands, scanning the burning areas with high powered radiation, sacrificing hidden sensor posts to find the culprits and flush them out of their positions. Rearguard infantry are redirected, racing into the position to catch the infiltrators before they can do more damage. _

_And then... nothing._

_Just another powerful detonation flipping nearly a hundred tons of armored fighting vehicle upside down._

_A fist slams on the console, analytical programs terminated as raw visual data is sent to his display. Four eyes burn themselves into the image, seeking out hunters before they can destroy his remaining Bor'slaams. He can't lose them, not yet. Too many human ships still remain._

_A priority call comes in._

"_Echo squad here! We've found-" _

_And terminates in a gunshot punctuated death rattle. The roar of automatic fire fills the communication channel. Infantry closing on the number 8 Bor'slaam shout in confusion, firing randomly at phantom targets they can't see. Squad sergeants try to establish fire discipline, only for whipcrack gunfire to drown out their orders, discoloring their markers to the dull grey of KIA. _

"_-jamming! Command, enemy contact but we can't see them! Sensors are down and we have no visual! Repeat, no visual. We're getting slaughtered!" _

_He sees it then, a final three second clip on an one of the infantry helmet cameras. A lump of terrain moving when rocks have no business walking. A flash of light from a muzzle that wasn't there before. Then it all goes to static._

"_Movement! Frag out!"_

_Visuals from the other units show puffs of smoke and shrapnel, streams of fire stitching patterns across rock face, lunar soil, packing crates, all without finding their marks. Crackling gunfire responds in kind, short, sharp, and all much more lethal, dropping his men far too efficiently for his liking. The Bor'slaams added their own fire into the mix, co-axial and commander guns firing with wild abandon. Terrain explodes from the fusilade, to little-_

_No. _

_The weight of numbers have made their mark. A large lump of dirt jerks from hammerblow impacts of Bor'slaam eights mounted machineguns. Sparks, shrapnel and blood splash the grey lunar rock as the flailing object loses its stony hue to recognizable greys and red. Howls of victory issue from the escorts, their fire focusing on the humanoid figure-_

_Who vanishes, obscured by a newborn sun flaring into existence out of nothing. Blink fast, it streaks past the advancing fireteams, weaving in and out of their firing lanes, never taking a hit while solar bright muzzle flashes cut down his own men. Three pirates die in a second, another two collapse, their vitals monitors registering critical distress. An instant later, and it's upon the falling Alliance soldier, snatching the human before it can even hit the ground and taking the both of them behind the shelter of a rock outcropping. _

_For a single heartbeat, it's all silent for Charr. The babble of his communications officers, underlings barking out orders and directing the rest of the defense, the thunder of the remaining Bor'slaam guns, none of it registers on his mind. Only one thing occupies the forefront of his consciousness, working overtime as the sight is processed._

_And yet someone is faster still._

"_Delta actual! Contact confirmed! It's him!" _

_Two things happen at that exact moment. The first is that the tactical VIs complete their analysis, providing now obsolete positive identification of the blazing symbol sowing havoc in his rearguard._

_Shepard. Systems Alliance Marine. Hero of Elysium-_

_The second is the sun bursting from behind the shelter, ascending into the air faster than even the nimblest of drones. Time seems to slow for Charr as dark spots appear in its halo, shadows in the shape of pistols as it reaches the apex of its leap. Both guns snarl, spitting rounds as fast as a submachine gun. Infantry whither in the fire, vanishing off his tactical display faster than he can count. But even in that stretched out slaughter he can see the human's mistake, exposing himself to his doom. Guided by smart VIs, fitted with precision tracking systems, Bor'slaam eight fires its anti-personnel guns, filling the air with a hail of hypervelocity steel in a fraction of a second that would tear the vaunted hero into bloody chunks._

_Impossibly, nothing hits. No flares of shields collapsing, no spray of blood as armor is shredded and flesh torn. The blazing human shaped light simply bobs and weaves through the storm of fire like a maddened drone as it plummets back to the earth. Something detaches from the glowing figure then, streaking across the air like a rocket where it vanishes into the main barrel of the Bor'slaam. _

_-The Golden Scourge._

_Behind his strongest defenses. Tearing his precious guns apart._

_As if the thought bent reality to fit, number eight splits apart like rotten fruit in a microwave oven, hurling flames and chunks of machinery in every direction, scything down the remaining escorts. A moment later and the drone dies along with the visual, the bunker shaking under the wave of gravity distorting dark energy of an exploding eezo core. _

_Charr spent all of a second in stony silence as panicked communications streamed in from the remaining anti-orbital guns. _

"_Hammer three taking enemy fire! Main gun is out of commission!"_

"_Seven actual, heavy enemy contact! Armour breach! Losing contai-!" _

"_Six is immobilized, they have incendiaries!" _

_But then the ground shakes, once, twice. The thunderclap reports of the Bor'slaams discharging their main guns. Tactical displays track their outbound payloads streaking into orbit. A small consolation, but at least the humans will bleed ships just a little longer. It's enough to give him a brief moment of revenge driven satisfaction._

_Until the systems plot the final projected path. By then, it is already too late to even shout a warning. A pirate command cruiser shatters, torn apart by the double blow of both projectiles._

"_This is Heilat, taking groundfire! We just lost Shin'kar! What's going on Charr? Those are your guns!"_

"_The guns are compromised!" Charr yells, both at the enraged pirate captain and at his communications techs, "Get those shutdown codes out now!"  
_  
"_They're not responding!" the tech yells back, frustration and fear in his voice as the bunker rumbles again, another pirate cruiser in orbit exploding soon after, "we've been locked out of their coms systems!"_

_He pounds his fists against the console, fuzzing the holographic tables with the force of impact as the Krogan chieftain rumbles with amusement. _

"_These humans have got a quint." The hulking alien dislodges himself from the wall and cocks his shotgun, the distinct sound seizing the attention of everyone in the command bunker. "Glad I took you up on your offer Charr, it was worth the trip just for this." _

_Balefully glaring at the Blood pack leader, Charr waves a dismissive hand at the wary guards. "Where do you think you're going Dagyr?"_

_He snorts. "Your fancy toys will be scrap metal soon enough and you know it. There's only one way this is going to end now. The rest is all just useless distractions." With that, the Krogan walks out the door, pausing only long enough to say, "And tell your men to back off from our sector. Unless you want them underfoot."_

_The darkly amused grunt from the retreating chieftain leaves no doubt as to how literally the term 'underfoot' would be applied. Glaring just a little longer at the now empty corridor, Charr balls his fist and opens a general communications line. _

_Only to be interrupted by an inbound communication, its ID tag indicating it as one of the infantry commanders escorting the erstwhile number eight Bor'slaam. But the voice that comes through isn't the distinctive flanging baritone of the turian commander. Instead, it's the mushy voice of a human. One he knows all too well, even if he's never met him before._

"_It ends today, pirate. All of it" The voice of the Scourge demands with equal parts certainty and disdain. "There's nowhere for you to go, and you have nothing left to stop us with. Surrender."_

"_Damn you human." Charr snarls, updates from the forward defenses depicting the truth of the words. With the Bor'slaams gone, supporting the enemy instead of harassing them, the humans were holding their own, even landing more reinforcements. The defensive perimeter was collapsing. "you'll get nothing from us." _

"_Only your lives." The Scourge replies with absolute conviction. "An acceptable trade."_

_The line goes dead._

_Charr looks up, meeting the uncertain gazes of his command staff. An angry retort begins to form on his lips._

_Only to die prematurely as an earth shattering crack rocks the bunker. Ferrocrete walls crack and collapse, display consoles dissolve into static, electrical fuses exploding from massive overload. People fall. Somewhere, someone screams. The reinforced supports of the roof give way._

_The last thing Charr sees as the lights short out is the ceiling coming down on him._

_And then it goes dark._

* * *

**AN: And here we have the first part of Witness Testament, a documentary style piece that follows the exploits of Sideris's Dawn caste Shepard in Cyclical. More to come in the future, with a deeper look into just what Shepard can really do.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Previously, we interviewed Ajak Charr, the Batarian Warlord who led the defense in the historic battle of Torfan. Today we see the other side of the story as we interview one of the Alliance soldiers who served and fought alongside the legendary Commander Shepard as they brought the final stages of the fighting to a close. _

* * *

**Jonathan Harrington, War History**

**Rising From the Ashes**

**Part 2**

* * *

**THE DUTIFUL**

Let me set the record straight to start with. There's a lot of theories about him out there, all sorts of stories from both sides about how he's either the second coming of Christ, alien god or whatever. Far as I'm concerned, it's all one hundred percent grade A bullshit. So if you're looking at that angle for your story, you can show yourself out the door right now. I wouldn't be here talking to you if it weren't for him, not unless you're one of those new age spirit medium types. I'd have died that goddamned rock and that would be that. He saved my ass more than a few times in the two years we fought and bled together. Don't get me wrong, he can do all sorts of crazy things I'd say were outright impossible, but before that, the man's a brother marine and a hero whom I owe more than I can ever repay. That's all that matters.

Now, I won't bother with my unit number and name, if you've found me you already know it. But yeah I was part of his team when we took that god forsaken moon. We were dropped down a couple days earlier from the main force, kitted out with the new mimetic poly-alloy armour to help us avoid unfriendly eyes. We weren't just recon though. Would have been a bloody waste of our talents, even before he started training us. Our job was to lay low, take up the good positions and wait for the fleet to hit. Once the pirates had their eyes glued to the front, we were to make a mess of things through their backdoor and then keep moving to other targets of opportunity. We had a lot of choice stuff to pick from, naval intelligence had done their homework way before us, even if they did screw it up in the end.

I won't tell you how we got on the moon, it's classified to hell to back, but I can say it was a pretty smooth op right up until the invasion proper. That's when the pirates really pulled one over us. Let the ground pounders get up real close before springing the first of their surprises.

We knew the bastards had hundreds of slaves on call, all of them fitted with those nerve staple collars and broken down to the point of animals. Turians, asari, quarian, human and a half dozen other species from all across the Terminus. You see them now and again when some bastard gets caught smuggling slaves into Batarian space, all broken up on the inside, not even with a sense of self anymore. We figured they'd use them as hostages, human shields and the like. The naval psychs during the briefing said they'd be too broken to be used as fighting units. And they were right, mostly. The slavers wouldn't want them to get the idea of picking up a gun and fighting you know? Always the risk that they might get it into their heads to shoot the bastards who'd been hurting them all this while instead of their rescuers. But bomb vests... well, you can guess how that went.

Yeah, he made the call, nobody else could. Bastards were jamming every Alliance channel, but we had a few days to figure out their communication frequencies before things went to hell. It was a close call, calling in a fire mission like that though I can tell you he didn't like it at all. Really pissed him off. But we didn't have much of a choice. With those nerve staples, they were going to keep coming until they got shot or blew themselves up. At least it was quick for the poor bastards.

Compared to that, taking out their big guns was a lot easier to swallow. Naval intelligence might have dropped the ball there, those Longeyes took everyone by surprise, especially with those pirate reinforcements dropping out of FTL. Right then we knew the whole thing was a setup, but Shepard didn't let that slow him down. We went off the script, and he did a pretty damn good job of managing things by the seat of the pants, getting us to take out those anti-orbital guns in quick order.

That's where I lost a good chunk of my meat. Don't let Alliance PR bullshit fool you. That mimetic poly-alloy armour they talk about might give you a whole bunch of stealthy options to work with, but the designers sacrificed a lot of protection to fit all the tech underneath. I got shot at while dealing with the guards they had assigned to the guns. Wasn't enough to put me down for good, thank Sirta for medigel, but it was enough to slow me down some. Enough to get shot a whole lot more in another second in fact. But then he was there, pulling my broken ass out of the line of fire and going on to do what he did best.

We took those guns, and we put them to good use, turning them on the pirate reinforcements up in orbit. I'd have given up a lot to be the fly on the wall when that bastard warlord heard about that.

Not that he was going to have a lot of time to rant about it.

* * *

_Lieutenant Samuel Jensen hurt. _

_Which wasn't much of a surprise given that he'd been shot a few more times than he would have liked. That was to say, once was one time too many. The magic of medigel and morphine being pumped into his system kept him breathing and numbed the pain some, but it could only do so much. He was lucky, in retrospect. Only one of the rounds had managed to punch through his armour, the rest missing or deflecting off the angled plate. He wasn't even a medevac case, just a short sit down, let the suits autodocs do their job and he'd be back in the fight. Not to mention he had a front row seat to the biggest fireworks show in years, so he had something other than just drugs to take his mind off the pain._

_A hundred meters away and on the other side of the blast shield Jensen was hiding behind, smoke lazily curled around the Longeye's main armament. Much further away in high orbit, Torfan gained an extra dose of sunshine courtesy of exploding pirate cruiser, just one of three so far. There were going to be a lot more short lived stars tonight, he thought. His radio crackled to life, the closed fist icon on his helmet display telling him it was from the secret officers-only channel._

"_**Good shot. Good shot. Enemy command cruiser is breaking up. That's the last of them. Pirate reinforcements in Torfan orbit are losing cohesion, but they're still putting up heavy resistance. All recon, confirm. Have the enemy ground batteries been completely neutralized?"**_

_One by one, the other teams check in, each one tired but victorious._

"_**Dagger one confirms."**_

"_**Dagger three confirms." **_

_And lastly superman's voice fills the airwaves, calm like he hadn't faced off a platoon strength enemy escort with nothing but a pair of heavy pistols and a satchel charge. _"_**Sigma lead confirms. Nine batteries destroyed, three captured. No others on scope."**_

_There's something else in his voice too, something leaking in through the calm confidence and discipline. Something a bit... primal. But whatever it was, Jensen didn't have the time to ponder it as the next bit of coms chatter took all his attention._

"_**Confirmed Sigma lead. All teams still holding the batteries, maintain your position, relief forces are enroute. In the meantime, keep those guns aimed at the sky, command is requesting additional fire support. Uploading targeting data now. Fire when ready. Over." **_

"_**Dagger two wilco. Fire mission confirmed." **__Jensen braced himself, smart visor polarizing to near pitch black. _"_**Guns firing." **_

_The Torfan night sky lit up brighter than the burning ships in orbit, followed by an earth shaking shockwave that nearly threw him despite hiding behind the blast shield. Jensen swore as, morphine or no, the rattling made his abused chest twinge with a fresh shot of pain while his ears rang like an exploding factory. Not to mention the sudden blindness. Even with the visor set all the way down, the sheer brightness left a long greasy streak on his sight._

"_**Shells on the way. Clear the lanes."**_

_Ignoring the cheers as another star lit up Torfan's horizon, Jensen picked himself up off the lunar soil, gingerly feeling at his chest before grabbing his rifle. No rest for the wicked or the hurt, not on this battlefield, and not under the commander's watch. Even with the pirate command center wiped out, there was still going to be a lot of fighting to come._

_Scanning for the man, he found the commander crouching beside a dead slaver. Jensen was about to call out to him when a HMD icon lit up, indicating that his superior was on the line with someone. Shrugging, he settled in for a short wait while observing the man. The glow surrounding Sigma lead was mostly faded at this point, receding back beneath layers of ceramic armour insets and ballistic weave though it still shone through areas where the armour was thinnest. Jensen had to suppress a shudder at that._

_No matter how many times he had seen it before, it never failed to unnerve him. That light was as much his signature as it was a sign of his otherness, nevermind the superhuman feats and impossible stunts. They knew about it of course, how it only showed when he was pulling all the stops and how much brighter it got the more he turned reality on its head, all the veterans of 51st Recon did. Whatever their commander was, he wasn't just human no matter what the docs said, not since Elysium. He'd become something more, an unknowable other defying all attempts at classification that just happened to have a human face. Not that it would deter any of the 51st from following him into hell if he said the word._

_Commander Shepard had that effect on people. _

_His brief rumination came to a halt when the man in question ended communications with whoever it was, the icon darkening as Shepard shook his head. Jensen frowned. He wasn't the best when it came to reading body language, but that didn't look like a good sign._

"_Trouble commander?" He asked on a private channel._

"_Maybe." Was the terse reply as Shepard's omni tool lit up. A moment later, a window opened in the corner of Jensen's helmet display, updates to their squads mission profile scrolling past. He absorbed all the pertinent details in the space of a few seconds._

_He blinked._

"_Seriously, sir?" _

_Shepard nodded, "always am Jensen," he paused for a second before adding, "you could sit it out. Medigel or not, you took a pretty bad hit back there and it's going to get pretty rough soon."_

_Jensen snorted, ignoring the twinge in his chest the action caused. "Not dead yet sir, and you know our company motto."_

"_No rest for the wicked." The commander filled in, clapping a hand on his shoulder, "Good man. Now get the troops ready, command wants us into the breach the moment the dust settles."_

_He watched the man depart, the same confident, predatory gait to his step that never went away no matter what. Quietly, despite the fact that nothing would carry beyond the confines of his helmet, he whispered the other half of the 51st motto._

"_Not while the sun shines."_

* * *

_Within the confines of Torfan's gravity well, a star blossomed. Just one more of the dozens that already burned across the horizon. Small, insignificant by any stellar classification, it still shone brighter than any star that surrounded the lonely moon of Torfan, illuminating the horizon with the actinic glare of its brief life. Like its siblings, it burned bright, quick and hot._

_But unlike its brethren, its birth cry began in the heart of the pirate base._

* * *

Torfan didn't have much of an atmosphere to carry sound in, but let me tell you. It was loud. I can still close my eyes today and feel my bones rattling from the memory of that Longeye firing on the pirate base.

You see, the enemy command center in our sector was pretty well fortified. Half buried into a mountain cliff to shield it from orbital strikes, reinforced ferrocrete walls and enough guns to make the approach murderous for anything on the ground. Standard doctrine would have been to encircle the place and probe for weak points, but command didn't want to take chances after the surprise they had sprung on us. They wanted to shake up the place.

Turns out that our brand new anti-orbital guns make the best door knockers.

Didn't completely level the place, just enough to make a mess of their defenses. Torfan had been the centre of pirate activity for the last few decades, and command wanted that intelligence intact. Couldn't let the slavers get rid of it either once they realized they were losing, so we went in after the barrage with elements of the 402nd following close behind to help secure the area.

It should have been an easy job. Sure, they'd put up a fight, but their communications were in tatters, and any resistance in the complex would be disorganized after that shelling.

Or at least, that's what we thought.

* * *

"_Hurry it up McTavish!" Jensen yelled over the chatter of his assault rifle, "that door isn't going to blow itself up!"_

"_Easy for you to say Lt," the one eyed sergeant huffed as he leaped over a barricade, sprinting across the no-mans land before sliding behind a burning utility truck, "you're not carrying all this crap."_

"_Yeah well if you don't open us an entryway soon, it'll be the last sack of crap you ever carry!" He shot back as a burst of retaliatory fire flew overhead._

_It had been a heady advance at first. Slaver guards, still disoriented by the blast, quickly dropped as their company pressed forward with elements of the 402nd, the defenders unable to put up more than a token resistance. But it couldn't, and wasn't lasting. Not every defensive position had been blasted by the opening salvo, and some of the guards in them were starting to coordinate again. The Commander was cracking open the toughest ones with grenade fire, but they needed into the complex, and soon._

_Shots sparked off the shattered packing crate that was his cover with increasing accuracy, the lucky few penetrations forcing him to duck. He came back up with a smart grenade in hand, tossing the spinning disc on one smooth motion at one of the few active strongpoints. The slavers had only a second to shout before the grenade went off with a satisfying whump._

_Enemy fire slackened for just an instant. He gambled._

"_Move it cyclops!" Jensen dashed out of cover, rifle chattering away as he made a mad sprint for the main entrance. More shots sparked the ground around him. The bastards weren't as suppressed as he had hoped. The smart HUD tracked McTavish's progress, pegged him as only a second behind as the sergeant followed suit. _

_It felt like a million years and a thousand parsecs away._

_Miraculously, neither of them stopped a bullet. And then he was up against the bunker walls, under their fire and close to the sealed doors. McTavish arrived a moment later, panting as the sergeant unhooked the heavy duty breaching charge. He slapped the explosives against the door, hooked a finger around the arming strip, and exchanged a brief look with Jensen. The lieutenant nodded, shouldering his rifle-_

_The door hissed open. A shotgun the size of his torso shot out, jamming against the sergeant's chest. _

_He didn't have time to even shout a warning. _

* * *

We weren't expecting the Krogan.

They were waiting for us, and the bombardment didn't seem to have phased them much. The moment we got to the access tunnels, dozens of the lizards started pouring out of the hatches. We fired back of course, but Krogan don't drop easily. A lot of good people died in the first few seconds once they got into melee range. I saw one Krogan grab a marine and literally pull him apart. It was the same across the entire platoon. Everyone was reporting contact with Blood Pack forces and heavy casualties.

But he was there again, glowing like he always did when things were bad. That got their attention. This really big Krogan came rushing for him, shrugging off our shots like rain.

And you know what? He met the overgrown lizard head on.

But before I go into detail let me tell you, what you see in the drone captured vids, the re-enactments based off witness accounts? They're nothing like seeing the real thing in action with your own two eyes. I'd seen it happen plenty of times before when we were working together, but when he does that, and you get the feeling like he's telling the universe to shut the fuck up because he's goddamned Commander Shepard? It never goes away. Don't know what Alliance brain trust did to him that made him the way he is, but whatever it is borders on sheer magic.

* * *

_Jensen swung his rifle to bear, rage and fear in equal measure giving his limbs speed. The red armoured giant was faster still, trampling the gory remnants of his sergeant aside as it charged. _

"_Krogan!" The panicked shout filled the airwaves as time seemed to slow down for him. He saw it then on his HUD, on the tactical maps. New contacts, pouring out from both marked and previously hidden access points. Shotguns the size of cannons roared, adding their thundering mix into the battlefield din. They were close. Too close. Marines fired back, threw grenades, some even pulled combat knives. The wave of Krogan simply closed the distance and trampled them down. _

_Something exploded, white hot flechettes whizzing by his face, smashing against his body. His barriers collapsed, the blare of alarms accelerating time to the here and now. And the rapidly closing Krogan._

_His rifle chattered, dozens of rounds sent down the range. Fire shifted from the other teams, picking at the massive speeding target. A storm of fire smashed against the alien, tearing its barriers, puncturing its armour. To no effect. The Krogan didn't even slow, an angry bellow filling his ears as the behemoth checked its shoulder and sprinted the last few meters. A yell formed in his throat, all rage, fear and stubborn determination._

_And then he was there, a blazing star in the face of an unstoppable force._

_The Krogan swung-_

_The sun flared._

_-and hit empty air._

_The glowing man flashed aside, leaving afterimages swimming in Jensen's vision. Bereft of a target, the Krogan stumbled, target missed._

_Shepard never gave him a chance._

_Heavy pistols stitched a staccato beat like full automatic fire. Alien blood splashed the ground as its eyeport shattered. The Krogan roared a challenge, feet digging into lunar soil as it tried to stop and turn._

_A golden fist streaked faster, jabbing into the shattered eyeport. Pulling out so quick that the alien only bellowed in pain after he had danced back a step and out of reach. But then the krogan paused. Looked at Shepard, poised to move in any direction. It grunted._

_The shotgun swivelled towards Jensen. _

_He reacted on instinct, pulling the trigger, the first shots slamming into the alien. Hitting the barriers, the armour. Failing to penetrate. He saw the meaty finger twitch-_

_The Krogan's head exploded._

_He froze, finger falling off the trigger as the headless corpse slumped and fell down, spilling blood on Torfan's soil. A sniper? But there hadn't been any friendlies in his range with the ordnance. Before he could do more than think those thoughts, Shepard darted forward, snatching the dead Krogan's oversized shotgun. As if noticing his stare, the commander turned towards Jensen, giving him a shrug. _

"_Grenade," he said by way of explanation, racking the veritable hand cannon. "Left it in his helmet."_

_A stray shot whizzed by, forcing the two of them to dive for cover. "I hope you've got a whole lot more grenades then commander," he said, snapping a shredder module into place and wishing he had something meatier. Like a nuke. "There's a lot of krogan out here."_

_Popping up, he fired off three shots at krogan charging Charlie squad. The first two improved rounds smashed against the barrier and armour respectively, but the third punched through. Blood puffed as one of its ankles shattered from the fragmentation round. But instead of collapsing like a sensible creature, the damned thing turned around on the shattered limb, shotgun roaring. The pellets went wide, but Jensen ducked all the same. "A whole lot of Krogan, we... uh Commander?"_

_Still glowing, Shepard had crouched down, hands on the floor and legs stretched out as tensing for a race. The shotgun was folded up and stowed on his back._

"_What are you doing?"_

"_Buying us some time." He said, the glow growing brighter with every second, "the rest of the 402nd will be here soon."_

_And then when he was almost too bright to look upon, he __**leaped**__._

_Jensen had seen the commander move before, impossible sprints and jumps that should have been impossible for any living person. But not like this. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl, but Shepard still blurred as he shot through the air. Despite everything that had been drilled into him, Jensen broke cover, tracking the streak of lightning. Watched it slam into the charging krogan's head. Watched a full ton of angry alien rock back as if hit by a tank. Saw the oversized shotgun materialize from the light and slam right into the creature's forehead with enough force to crack the helmet._

_Saw the trigger pulled._

_The alien's head disappeared in a wash of flame and shrapnel._

_The headless krogan tottered once, twice, and then Shepard kicked off the corpse, stripping its bandolier of det charges in the same fluid motion. A ton of dead alien flesh smashed into the lunar soil with a resounding crash as he landed. And then impossibly, implausibly in the age of 22nd century infantry combat, the commander stood, whirling the bandolier above his head like a medieval whip. _

_But there was nothing medieval about the flashing lights of armed charges, a spinning circle of red light above his head like a demonic halo. _

_Nothing medieval about the rapid fire barks of his heavy pistol, each shot tearing a det charge free from the bandolier. Each explosive trailing a different crimson trajectory as it was set loose._

_The krogan line vanished in flame and smoke. _

_Jensen felt his breath catch, fingers nearly going numb as they tightened their grip on his rifle. Too close. The blasts had been too close..._

_And yet miraculously, no fresh KIA lights in his HUD, no feeds going ominously silent. Only the shell-shocked chatter of confused troopers as they fell back from the roiling clouds of dust._

_As for the Krogan... he didn't take the rifle off line, yet it seemed unneeded. The smoke obscured his vision, blanked out the more advanced sensors, but they couldn't have survived that, could they?_

_An angry bellow from a dozen enraged krogan proved him wrong._

* * *

Let me tell you. Krogan are tougher than most people would think. Don't let the holovids fool you. Just because you managed to bring one down doesn't mean it'll stay down. They can shrug off a lot of damage before they start feeling it. A lot of times, putting one down just means you managed to give him a hit that really hurt.

* * *

_They came boiling out of the flames like an angry tide, the ground shaking beneath their feet. Not all the krogan had survived the devastating blast, but many had. Too many. _

_Their armour shredded, covered in burns and gaping wounds that drenched them in blood, they should have been dead or in the final throes of it. Yet they charged on, one long howl of hate issuing from their throats as they thundered for the glowing man before them. Jensen didn't hesitate, firing instantly. His rifle sent dozens of deadly shredder rounds downrange at the mass of flesh and metal in the space of a second. _

_It was like throwing spitballs at a tidal wave._

_A tidal wave that shot back. Krogan held guns roared, the chatter of heavy machineguns mixing with the throaty boom of outsized shotguns. A storm of fire that should have shredded Shepard. _

_The commander moved again, but not to jump. He weaved, bobbed, shifted, a blurring dance that left afterimages burning in the air. Bullets streaked by, never once touching him, Krogan fire spending itself uselessly against shining smoke. But he wasn't just dodging. The staccato retort of a heavy pistol announced his reply, the rate of fire too fast to count the individual shots. Never missing. Always crippling._

_Reinforced eyeports shatter, bullets finding the soft organs inside. Guns fall, the fingers holding them shot off. _

_And then when the tempo of fire slackened momentarily, when they were only meters away, he jumped. Not away. But toward the roaring wall. _

_The closest of a trio raised his shotgun, tracking the commander's trajectory-_

_Only to explode in fire and smoke as a shot from the glowing man punctured its innards. The krogan bellows in rage, but then stops as something rockets from the falling star, slapping onto the exposed neck join with a barely audible thwap. _

_The crack of the grenade going off is sharp, rising above the roar of gunfire like a slap. _

_He plummets through the smoke, ducking under the blurring fist of the second krogan and jamming the shotgun into the exposed armpit. The blast nearly tears the alien into two as his foot lashes out, knocking the last krogan's rifle aside. The alien juggernaut doesn't even have time to react as the commander spins, slamming his pistol into the broken eyeport. The gun barks once, thrice, too many to count in that long second._

_And then he slides past them, shotgun and pistol akimbo. Behind him, the trio of krogan collapse like dolls with their strings cut. For one instant, one moment frozen in time, the remaining aliens halt, staring at the glowing creature in front of them with loathing and just the tiniest bit of fear._

_He broadcasts a single message in the clear._

"_Come on then." _

* * *

**AN: And here's the next piece. Hope you all like it since Shepard's not quite done with Torfan yet.  
**


End file.
